


We on the Riverbank

by bodyelectric (grantairas)



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6689317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairas/pseuds/bodyelectric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you wish to go back?” Patroclus asked gently. “To Pelion?”<br/>“I would,” he said, after a moment of thought.<br/>“Then let’s pretend.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We on the Riverbank

**Author's Note:**

> i always get my ideas when i'm half asleep  
> the title comes from "river poem" by james merrill

“I miss home. I miss Phthia. Skyros, even. But most of all I miss Pelion.”

Patroclus looked up from the armor he was polishing to Achilles, who was stretched across the furs that lined their bed, his eyes closed in contemplation.

“Do you wish to go back?” Patroclus asked gently. “To Pelion?”

It was a question with an obvious answer, but Achilles did not treat Patroclus’ questions this way. “I would,” he said, after a moment of thought. His eyes opened, looking fully at Patroclus, as they always did, without having to find him. “I would.”

“Then let’s pretend.” Patroclus moved so he was kneeling over Achilles, the armor forgotten, with his knees meeting the back of Achilles’ head, and waited. Knowingly Achilles shifted so his head rested on Patroclus’ lap, his hair framing his face and falling over the side of Patroclus’ thighs like sunlight.

“This is silly. We are not children, Patroclus.”

Upside down, his features were skewed, but no less beautiful. In the moments when the two of them could be truly alone Achilles’ beauty was not beauty alone, but like the covering of clouds over a godly place. It hid a secret only Patroclus knew, but one that he never tired of uncovering, again and again.

“Shh. Never mind that. Just close your eyes.”

Achilles did so. He smiled as he did when he let himself give in to Patroclus, when the breastplate and the helmet stopped existing and it was only their love.

“Shall we go to the river?” Patroclus asked, massaging Achilles’ chest with his hands. He felt Achilles soften into the touch, his body settling deeper into Patroclus’ support.

“Yes,” he answered.

“And what shall we do when we’re there?”

He loved teasing Achilles, seeing how it worked on him. He always knew the moment when the desire began to warm Achilles’ skin, the tide that pulled from inside. He said, “But what if we are needed by Chiron? If he calls us?” He leaned forward, just enough so that he could whisper as his hands moved to Achilles’ shoulders, erasing the knots of his burden from the muscles there.

“He won’t disturb us, I’m sure,” Achilles said, just barely breathless. Patroclus loved him.

“You are sure?” He drew the tips of his fingers over Achilles’ throat, over the vulnerable softness beneath his raised chin, to his bottom lip.

“I am sure.”

“Hmm.” Patroclus pressed down at the opening of Achilles’ mouth, feeling the warmth there as Achilles’ tongue met his skin.

“Do you want to go swimming?” he whispered.

Achilles shook his head slowly. Now his eyes were open, watching Patroclus, but Patroclus couldn’t be bothered to tell him to close them again. Achilles sucked at his fingers until Patroclus drew them out and rested them on the rise of Achilles’ cheekbone.

“What do you want then, my love?” _My love, my prince, my heart_ , all the same when it came to Achilles.

“I want-” It came out helpless sounding, almost like begging, and Patroclus wondered at how such as man as Achilles could be reduced to this by words and by touch. By a mortal like Patroclus.

Achilles did not attempt more words. Patroclus closed the gap between them, turning so he could straddle Achilles’ hips as he kissed him. The wanting was like the sharpened edge of a sword.

For a moment, he had forgotten their game, but just as he started to kiss the ridge of Achilles’ collarbone he was reminded of the rush of water from the river, the filtered sun through wild trees, the soft grass flattened beneath them. He was reminded of their very first days, the rush of delight with each touch and how the discovery of Achilles’ body was more triumphant than any battle. Before they knew what a battle truly was.

He continued kissing the lines and planes of Achilles’ body, removing the fabric that covered it, but slowly, to cherish each small sound that Achilles made. When he reached the place just beneath Achilles’ stomach he looked up. “Do you want this?”

Achilles reached to find the layers of Patroclus’ hair with impatient fingers. “Yes.”

Patroclus kissed the inside of Achilles’ thigh. “This?”

“Yes.”                                                                                            

His tongue ran over Achilles’ skin. “This?”

The sound of Achilles’ voice was beautiful. “Yes.”

Patroclus took him in his mouth, and the way Achilles felt to him was neither past nor future, just their present, the way their two lives collided and left all else to turn to dust.

 

The next day was another day for battle, and Patroclus helped Achilles arm. He set the great armor over Achilles' body with thoughts of Pelion, their mountain, knowing even as he longed for it that it was just a place of memory, now.


End file.
